The Cult

Claire was asleep, but I went to say goodbye anyway.

I cracked the door silently and then looked at the beautiful blond hair all over the pillow. But there was also brown hair—because Constance was asleep beside her. Together in the twin bed, they slept side by side, Claire’s arm on top of hers, the blankets hogged to her side.

With my hand on the door, I stared.

They both had fair cheeks like fresh snow, and their lips were parted with the peace that only came from sleep. Their unspoken bond traversed everything, and sometimes the resentment made my anger burn, because Beatrice never even tried to have that depth of connection with her own daughter.

But with Constance, it was effortless.

I didn’t know why Constance had crawled into her bed. I didn’t know if she’d done it before…or did it all the time.

I stared a while longer before I shut the door and left the house.

The ship was docked a mile off the coast.

Lights were killed.

Nothing but darkness.

The approaching ship was just as dark, with the exception of a glimmer of the light from a phone, from a flashlight off the scope of the gun. Red lasers swept across the docked ship then went black when they didn’t find anything.

Bartholomew was beside me, basked in darkness, his shadow his presence. He gripped the rail and waited, his intelligent eyes watching the scene unfold in front of him exactly as we planned.

Our smaller boat was in the distance, blacked-out in complete darkness. We bobbed on the waves.

The men used their ropes to pull themselves up the hull of the docked ship and onto the deck, guns drawn, ready to kill off everyone in sight. They spread out, some taking the stairs to the hull, others moving to the tower.

Minutes later, they returned to the deck of the ship, obviously confused.

It was a ghost ship.

He held up the remote with the button in the center. “The honor is yours, Benton.”

When you were on top, everyone watched. Everyone wanted a piece of the pie. When that answer was no, they decided to take it. It always ended in the same way. Just like this.

I took the remote and watched them scuttle across the ship like ants. In just a few moments, they would realize this was staged, that they hadn’t outsmarted us—but it was the other way around.

Shouts erupted.

The men found the explosives in the hull.

Bartholomew’s rare smile made an appearance. Wide. Beaming. Maniacal.

I hit the button.

Each section of the ship exploded out, rising from one level to the next, debris flying into the air as the inferno rose like a cloud to the sky. It roared like a beast, shattered their eardrums before their skin was consumed as fuel in the flames. The screams were just an instant in time before they were swallowed by death.

Just a few men managed to make it overboard and swim back to their ship that had remained unscathed. A few were still on, throwing out lines to get the men out. After they crawled into their boat, the engine kicked on, and they sped away.

I turned the dial and hit the button.

The red flames of the explosion contrasted against the blackness of the water. A singe of heat carried on the wind and hit us in the face, along with the scent of burned flesh. Their ship was small, so it quickly sank beneath the waves, gone.

Bartholomew stared at our ship that burned on the surface of the water, and soon enough, it would sink beneath the waves too. His hands gripped the rail, the smile still wide. “Well, that was fun.”

“We lost a ship.” It was my idea, and the only way I could destroy the entire anthill, not just a few insects.

“We’ll buy another one.”

Claire walked between us on the sidewalk, her backpack bouncing up and down with her steps because it was nearly empty except for a couple papers and her lunch box. The sidewalks and streets were busy with people getting to their destinations, bags over their shoulders, coffees in hand.

Constance was on the other side of Claire, glancing down at her from time to time, giving her a smile that hid the pain behind her eyes. In her new wardrobe, she no longer looked like the prisoner of a cult that became my problem. Now she looked like her own person, in tight jeans, heels, blouses, and jackets, jewelry on her wrists and neck. Her long hair was usually done in soft curls, and her makeup made her eyes stand out, gave her lips new life.

I was exhausted after my long night, but I didn’t want to miss taking Claire to school for the first time…first time since she’d been gone. I’d already had a conversation with her teacher, explaining that she’d been taken out of school for personal reasons. Last thing I wanted was for her teacher and the other students to treat her like she was different—and not in a good way.

When we dropped her off, there wasn’t a hint of unease. She spotted her friends and ran off without a backward glance.

It hurt that she didn’t say goodbye to me—but it was a good thing.

I watched her backpack bounce up and down quickly as she ran to her friends, who were just as excited to see her when they spotted her. Hugs were exchanged. Laughter. Squeals.

It was time to go, but it was hard to leave her there.

A hand moved to my arm, slender fingers digging into my muscle, a kind embrace.

And there was a soft smile to go with it.

I met her look for several seconds, feeling a distinct connection that hadn’t been there before, or at least that I hadn’t allowed to be there before. The exact same emotion was in her eyes, like leaving Claire was hard for her too, albeit for different reasons.

We walked back to the apartment together, spending most of that time in silence.

Fewer people were on the sidewalk because everyone had arrived at their destinations by now.

The pathway seemed to be just for us.

Her boots tapped against the sidewalk as we walked, two steps for every one of my mine. “How was your night?”

“Long.”

“Yeah, you seem tired.”

“I’m always tired now.” I had to juggle two personas at once, and it wouldn’t have been possible without Constance. The situation worked out to the advantage of us both. She had a lot of issues to resolve, so I suspected she would be around for a long time.

“Are you a drug dealer?”

The smirk was unstoppable. “No.”

“Then…a hit man?”

We were out in public, but I didn’t give a damn. As long as Claire wasn’t around, I didn’t give a shit who heard what. “Chasseur.”

“You’re a hunter. What does that mean?”

“We hunt—a lot of things. People. Drugs. Money. One-stop shop.”

She walked beside me, her eyes on me as if she didn’t understand.

“It’s complicated.”

“Then you’re in a gang.”

This time, I released a quiet laugh. “More like an empire. More like a corporation. More like an organization that the police and government both know about. We’re in the drug business, getting everything into France from our partners overseas. We pay off the right people like it’s an annual membership to your favorite warehouse store. We kill the people who fuck with us, and sometimes kill the people who fuck with the people who would never fuck with us.” I turned my gaze and watched her, watched her study me with calm absorption. “We’re in plain sight—but nobody sees us.”

“And the cult? Why do they have so much power?”

“Because they have the acid market. Our relationship can be symbiotic, so we’re allies—some of the time. Their organization goes deeper than the camp. It’s just a place they colonized so they can be freaks in peace.”

She gave a nod as if she understood, but she didn’t understand a thing.

We returned to the empty apartment, the first time we’d been alone together without Claire.

It instantly felt hollow, like I was back in time, sobbing in front of the fireplace.

She seemed to know, based on the way she stared at me. “I can make you something to eat.”

I didn’t need her to wait on me, to do anything for me. “I’m going to bed.” I turned back to the hallway.

“Will you pick her up with me?” Her question flew out quickly, a desperate plea.

I turned back around and met her look, seeing the fear that tinted her eyes the second I wasn’t around. “He won’t cross me.”

She gave a slight nod as she swallowed—but she didn’t seem consoled whatsoever.

“Uncle Bleu!”

My brother lifted her into the air the second he stepped through the front door and into the entryway. “There she is.” He held her with a single arm as he hugged her, the same fatherly affection in his eyes because she pulled at his heartstrings the way she pulled at mine. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Uncle Bleu.”

“I heard you’re back at school.” My brother ignored me as he entered deeper into the apartment, moving to the living room in front of the fireplace. Their voices carried as their conversation continued, Claire’s sweet voice sharing every little detail that happened during her day.

One day, she wouldn’t want to tell me anything.

Wasn’t looking forward to that.

I walked into the great room, seeing the two of them chatting on the couch, her horses on the coffee table.

Constance turned from the kitchen, in the middle of cooking dinner. Her cooking wasn’t as good as mine, but it was edible, and lately, I’d been too tired to do much around the apartment. Hopefully she’d get better. She stared for a while because she had no idea who he was.

“My brother.” I joined them on the couch.

Bleu and Claire continued talking, and my strong-and-silent, no-bullshit brother was practically a mother hen. “What did Angelica say to that?”

“That she doesn’t need any more friends…but she’s really nice. I don’t know why we can’t all be friends.”

“Because she’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” she asked.

“You know, she wants to keep you all to herself.”

“But I can be friends with both of them.”

“Well, you know how girls are…” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah,” Claire said. “Sometimes they can be mean, but I don’t know why.”

“Because you’re too sweet.” My brother gave her a pat on the head. “Which is surprising because your dad is a bit of a dud.”

I gave him a playful glare.

“My dad isn’t a dud,” Claire said, immediately jumping to my defense. “He’s my best friend.”

My hand went to my chest instinctively, a rush of blood right to my heart. Every time she said something like that…it killed me. I hoped we would always be this way, that when she was out of the house with her own life, we could still be close, still be friends.

Bleu smiled. “Well, that’s nice of you since your dad doesn’t have any friends.”

“Constance is his friend too.”

“Constance?” my brother asked.

Constance emerged. “Nice to meet you.”

My brother lifted his gaze and looked at her—and I could read that expression like a goddamn sign.

I glared at him—hard.

He quickly composed himself. “You too. Bleu.” His eyes immediately shifted to me, full of accusation.

I’d forgotten to mention her.

“Dinner is almost ready.” Constance returned to the kitchen.

Claire lowered her voice as she spoke to Bleu. “Her cooking tastes bad, but don’t say anything. It’s mean.”

Bleu didn’t hear what she said because his gaze was on me, interrogating me with just his look.

“The nanny.” It was the simplest explanation.

“The nanny?” Bleu continued to stare with incredulity. “Never needed a nanny before…”

“We’ll talk about it later.” I grabbed a glass of water and took a drink, brushing off his curiosity.

Claire said goodnight before Constance took her to get ready for bed.

Now it was just my brother and me in front of the dying fire.

That look of accusation was back. The question was silent.

“Claire refused to leave the camp without her, so I took her.”

“That doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

“She…protected Claire.” That was all I could get out. Didn’t want to repeat the horror story Beatrice had shared with me. “So, I’ll give her whatever she needs.”

He absorbed that for a while, the implication of my words hitting him right in the heart. It was a while before he said anything. “And she wants to live here?”

“She’s afraid Forneus will take her if she’s on her own. She’s right. Probably will.”

“And the solution to that is to live with you forever?”

“She asked me to kill him. I said no—as much I’d like to. But Beatrice returned to London to live with her parents, so I need the help anyway, especially since I’m out of the house at all hours of the night now.”

“Permanently?” he asked, referring to Beatrice.

I nodded.

“Bitch.”

“I’ve made my peace with it.”

“You don’t make your peace with anything.”

I turned my eyes on the fire. “If she doesn’t want to be in Claire’s life, then I don’t want her here out of obligation. Claire deserves better. Claire deserves to be loved unconditionally, not to be resented and neglected. I can pick up the slack. I had her most of the time anyway.”

He stared at the fire too, his hands rubbing together. “You’re a good father.”

I watched the flames burn lower, getting closer to the soot-covered logs.

“Are you screwing her?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

I turned back to him, my eyes as cold as the frost against the windows.

He continued his stare, pressing the question.

“She’s the nanny.”

“So?”

I shook my head and looked at the fire again. “Not my type.”

“Well, she’s definitely my type, so can I—”

“No.”

“You don’t want her, so what’s—”

I turned back to him. “This discussion is over.”

“So, you do want her, then.”

“The woman is fucking traumatized, and you want to hit on her?”

“She seems fine—”

“She’s not. Nearly has a panic attack every time I leave.” I knew she was still adjusting, and the last thing she wanted was some guy asking her out for a drink. “Make her uncomfortable and I’ll make you uncomfortable, alright?”

Bleu finally abandoned the topic by raising his hands in surrender. “Damn…alright, then.”